


la petite mort

by Thornofthelily



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Chains, Choking, Double Penetration, I tagged this as noncon out of an abundance of caution but he's into it by the end, Other, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Spectrophilia, Tentacle tongue, Teratophilia, The Reaper has a weird ghost dick, goro gets fucked by the reaper be warned, its the reaper folks, might as well throw bits of necrophilia in there just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27303412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thornofthelily/pseuds/Thornofthelily
Summary: Had I not knownthat I was deadalreadyI would have mournedmy loss of life-Ota Dokan--------------------Akechi Goro flirts with death.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/The Reaper
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	la petite mort

Four today. Four targets Goro needed to drive psychotic to support his father’s on-going narrative of the corruption of modern society. The one or two at a time Goro had insisted upon at first weren’t getting results fast enough, so Shido pushed him even further, much to Goro’s distaste. Fine. If that’s what it took to get his vengeance, he’d do it. Start off with random civilians to create a sense of general unease, demonstrate a strong hand was needed to bring the country to heel, he’d said. Then corrupt or remove the people currently in power, revealing how the current regime was too weak to do what needed to be done. Leaving room for Shido to emerge as the hero with a plan, with the power, with the indomitable aura needed to cleanse Japan. A classic dictatorial mindset, and now with the power to make reality match his perception.

Whatever. In the end, Goro didn’t care what happened to this rotten country. All he cared about was seeing the recognition in his father’s eyes, the knowledge he’d been outsmarted and outmaneuvered by his own son. Then he could kill him with his own two hands and revel in watching his power structure burn around him.

But that was later. Today, he had to find four different targets. Tomorrow he would find even more. Eleven total on his list, and Shido insisted they all get taken out within the month. Preferably in two weeks, he said at first, but when Goro checked the names on the app, several had their own fully-realized domains, which always meant more work. He planned to take out the small fries in Mementos first, then focus on bigger targets later.

Maybe he arrogantly took too many tasks at once, however, because as he descended, one of the angelic-looking monsters hit him with a bless attack that knocked him to his back before stabbing down with a long spear. He rolled and called forth Loki with a Laevateinn attack, dissolving the thing into black smoke and sludge, but not before it ripped through his thigh with a hissing tear of fabric and flesh. Goro spat curses and clamped a hand over the wound, investigating. Surface-level, blood welling in the wound, but no damage to muscles or arteries as far as he could tell. He rolled his foot and flexed his toes, and other than stinging pain, he could move without too much trouble. Dammit. He wrapped one of his few bandages around it, but that wouldn’t make it go away. He’d always preferred to kill quickly and cleanly, before the enemy had a chance to target him. They could heal themselves with magic, and he couldn’t.

Wincing, he regained his feet. He could put weight on it, but he had a noticeable limp. That would slow him down. _Dammit!_ Of all the times to get such a stupid injury… granted, he’d only been doing this professionally about a year, and he planned to push himself like never before. But like this, would he be able to get all his targets at once?

Besides, there was another… complication. A few times, if he stayed too long in one place, he’d heard these bone-chilling sounds, and Mementos, already chilly, became ice cold. Once, he’d even glimpsed it, a horrifying monster wielding two massive pistols, floating down the train tracks directly toward him, unlike the other shadows that wandered aimlessly. Goro knew instinctively, this one was different. It was _Death._

He managed to flee down the stairs, and Death did not follow. From that point, if he ever heard chains echoing through the tunnels, he immediately made his escape. It seemed more likely to happen the longer he stayed on a floor.

But now, Goro’s already frustratingly human pace had been cut down even further as he hobbled down twisting tunnels and hallways. He didn’t get the feeling his target was on this floor, but he couldn’t find the exit, either. _Fuck._ If this was an indicator for the rest of his night, he was well and truly screwed.

Then he heard it. Cold, echoing, rattling chains.

Goro cursed with every colorful swear he knew, and he heard a lot in all his foster homes. Limping even faster, he made his way down an unfamiliar corridor. Or was it? Had he come this way before? Panic and pain crept into his brain, and the mental map he’d drawn of this floor glitched. Where was he again…?

The chains echoed even closer. From his experience, Death, the Reaper, pursued him like a police dog chasing the scent of a perp. He probably only had a few minutes, and he hoped to whatever god or demon that gave him this power would also guide him to the exit.

Dead end.

Goro slumped against the wall, gritting his teeth, holding his aching, still-bleeding leg. The ambient light, already dim, faded to an eerie red, and he saw the creature’s shadow fall upon him. Floating a few feet off the ground, trailing coattails waving in a non-existent wind. Twin guns with barrels as long as Goro was tall. Chainlink sashes across its chest. Blood red cravat, and a single, wild eye peering out of ragged bandages around its head.

“Of course,” he growled to no one. “Of fucking _course._ Here to finish me off, then?” He laughed, exhausted, hurt, already worn to the bone from the past year of his assassinations, mindbreaks, heel-toeing to his bastard father. He always figured he’d meet his death doing this work, but to die even before he got his revenge? Pathetic. The Reaper kept moving closer, stench of rot and copper preceding it. Goro closed his eyes. Maybe this would be better, after all. Just die here, quietly, unknown, Shido left powerless, unable to manipulate the masses like he’d planned. “Just do your worst,” he whispered.

He expected to feel a bullet in his brain, or ripping through his chest, or some kind of horrible spell to rend him apart. He didn’t expect the hard metal tightening around his chest, binding his arms to his sides, knocking his knees together. He cracked an eye. The Reaper’s chains flowed from its body and tied around Goro. That face, that crazed eye, inches from his.

He yelped and jerked back as much as he could before the Reaper laughed wheezily, corpsebreath fouling Goro’s nose and gagging him. A wiggling pink appendage wormed between the bandages and licked the side of his face, slipping between the gaps in his mask. The stench nearly made him pass out.

“What… the fuck,” he bit out, but the Reaper didn’t answer. A skeletal hand clawed up his thighs, lovingly caressing the chains binding him, then slid around his sides and up his chest. The size difference astounded Goro; the tip of its middle finger could reach the hollow of his throat, while the heel of the palm pressed just under his belly button. The creature must have been… 8 feet tall? But without legs, it was impossible to estimate. It was so tall, so overwhelming, so broad, it filled Goro’s entire field of vision.

Goro scanned the creature once more, realizing the guns had vanished, leaving two bare, exposed, fleshless hands. Another bony appendage pried his mask off and threw it to the ground, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. The Reaper chuckled like the branches of a dead tree in winter. The long pink tongue, easily the length of his forearm, twined lovingly around Goro’s throat. He gasped, sputtered, airway still clear but tight, heart beating rabbit-quick in his chest.

Those fingers dug into his thin, tight clothes, soft whispers of torn fabric filling his ears. He thrashed, twisting his shoulders, reaching for the pistol at his hip, but every time he squirmed, the chains tightened around him. Lacking other options, he whipped his head forward to collide with the Reaper’s bandaged face, aiming for the one yellow eye.

The tip of the impossibly long tongue tightened around his throat, cutting off his air with a gurgle. Kicking uselessly, chest tightening in the vice of his restraints, his lungs had no room to expand, throat unable to inhale. Heat and blood filled his head, his vision swam with inky black spots, heart slamming in his ears, head swimming from the impact.

 _This is how I die, this is how I die, this is how I -_

The pressure relented before he could pass out and surrender to the sweet empty oblivion. Against his will, his body drew in a reedy breath, whistling through his bruised throat. Traitorous body, living despite himself.

The eye glared singularly at him, daring him to try it again. Goro just stared back defiantly.

The hand at his back continued to rip and tear apart his clothes between gaps in the chains until it completely exposed him, bare thighs and ass and limp dick hanging between his legs. Why did it want him nude? Why didn’t it just _finish him off_ already?!

Its other massive hand wrapped jointed phalanges in a cage around his head, giving Goro an intricate examination of the metacarpals of the palm. Whispy gray tissue barely held the hand together, and he swallowed down a scream. Message received: no more headbutting.

But worse, more terrifying, the tip of that pink tongue loosened from his neck and glided up, slipped past gaps in the skeletal fingers towards his face. The stench grew, halitosis and bile meeting his senses. Goro didn’t want it any closer. It didn’t care what Goro wanted.

The tongue speared past Goro’s lips, filling his mouth with vile. It was unlike any tongue he’d ever had in his mouth, unlike any kiss, because it wasn’t a kiss. It was pure, sentient penetration, wet and hot and thick. Horribly, it reminded him of his first pathetic attempts at head with nameless boys in empty classrooms. But it moved unlike any dick, either, squirming inside him with a mind of its own, writhing and thrusting and pulsing, choking Goro from the inside.

At the same time, the Reaper’s free hand stroked up and down his legs, too large, too unnatural, irregular sharp joints catching his skin in the oddest of places. Somehow soothing, even as the Reaper tonguefucked his face, gagging him and sending him sputtering. Goro's confused body reacted to the stimuli, his dick twitching with piqued interest. The Reaper’s thumb, itself nearly as long as his own cock, rubbed up and down his hardening length. His hips jerked into the friction, dry bones like rattling teeth.

Goro did not enjoy the sensation. Another finger traced under his balls, made him squeal when a too-sharp pointer nicked the delicate sac, just a pinch, then traveled further, pushing between his cheeks.

He tried to say no. Tried to beg for death again, but his voice bubbled uselessly behind the tongue thrusting deeper and harder into his mouth. A staccato moan ripped from his chest as the tonguetip licked against his back teeth. Tears slipped from his eyes, and he was not sure when they started.

 _La petite morte._ He had a French elective one semester, and he overheard some kids giggling in the back of the classroom, joking the way teenage boys did when pretending they weren’t terrified of sex. “Hey, did you hear? That the word in French for orgasm is _la petite morte._ The little death. How gross. How dumb. Ha, ha, ha.”

Nothing little about this. Nothing poetic or coquettish or sly, just sensation and touch and reaction, of his heartbeat and frenetic breathing, fear and revulsion crowding his chest as the raw hardened finger scraped between his twitching cheeks. He thrashed and the tongue pulsed too hard in his mouth, still slimy and wet, and his stomach heaved. Somehow, _mercifully,_ the Reaper withdrew, leaving Goro with an aching, slack, drooling mouth, slumping in the chains. They were the only things holding him up, suspended unnaturally in the Reaper’s cognitive control.

Eyes glazed, unfocused, unresponsive. Goro’s vision swam in the reds and blacks of Mementos’s light, the Reaper a swirling blur of death. “I did say to do your worst,” he slurred. “But I thought you were just going to kill me. So what is this?” He laughed hoarsely, shaking his head. “Does Death toy with its victims too?”

Strangely, the hand underneath him pulled back, returning to his cock and stroking slowly. It’s… horrific, was a word. Rough and hard and inhuman, but somehow the – _gentleness –_ with which Death stroked him has him sobbing for entirely different reasons. “Now you’re being _kind?_ ” He howled, voice echoing in the dusty air. “I thought you were _do not go gentle into that goodnight, rage against the dying of the light!_ Not _because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me!_ ”

All the depictions of death in poetry, art, theater, literature, music. As harsh, as beautiful, as cold, as welcoming, as a guest, as an invader. The inevitable fate for all living things, now pressing against him as cold and quiet as a graveyard. Was this how the masses perceived Death, after all? Did all these iterations exist within this creature? Was it made of the cognition of mankind, or could it exist on its own?

What did it matter. What were poems and metaphor compared to the wheezing breaths as the Reaper uncaged his skull and tore off the rest of his clothes. What did it matter, what did it matter. The tongue worked down his chest, as dexterous as a finger, flicking each nipple playfully until they were pert and hard. Goro’s body jerked in his bindings, although he tried not to react, his body certainly knew _something_ was happening, and wanted more. _No, no, not like this,_ he tried to convince his overheating body.

Now the tongue reached his cock, wrapping around the base with a surprising among of wetness and warmth, and _shit_ it felt better than his hand or a fleshlight or the faceless bodies he’d shoved his dick into. Slick and hot and _alive,_ even if the thing itself stunk of death, this part remained very alive, stroking him up and down in an entirely unnatural way. Tongues weren’t meant to do this. Hands didn’t feel like this, mouths and holes didn’t move like this. It looped around his cock a second time and he whined, bucking as much as he could into the ensnaring muscle.

Bony hands teased at his chest, light enough it almost tickled, present enough to make him squirm. Goro kept his eyes closed, losing himself in the heady rush of sensation. He could almost pretend this was normal. Then he found himself flipped around and pressed face-first into a wall. The chains around his legs loosened, pulled his knees apart, while the ones around his waist tightened and _yanked,_ until he was suspended in the air, doubled over, ass sticking out.

The tongue swept down his cock and up between his ass cheeks. Goro shuddered with horror or delight, maybe both. But the chains still held him immobile, half-prone, and every wriggle and writhe left his legs flailing and kicking at useless air. Finding no purchase to move himself, and the chains tightening with every struggle, he could only mewl hopelessly as that horrifically wet, long tongue licked and prodded at his hole.

He might have looked up some tentacle porn once or twice, more out of curiosity than actual interest. The appeal of having some long, fleshy appendage moving with more dexterity than any human body part, thick and alive and liquid, while still being alien and invasive, dirty and taboo, helpless against it… not Goro’s interest, of course, not at all, but he did casually look at some examples. For research. Though this was “just” a tongue, it felt like he did not imagine those tentacles would, this long, flexible organ teasing and flicking and twining around him, making him moan and ache for things he could not express.

It broached inside, no thicker than a finger, but it still made him wail, chains clattering noisily as he tried to – pull away? Thrust against it? He couldn’t even work his hands free enough to touch his cock, but he didn’t try too hard, either. If the Reaper knew where he was going for it might… try to help him. And he did _not_ want those overlarge, rough hands palming his cock.

Not that he wanted the tongue, either! Even… even as it worked deeper, pumping in and out slowly, spreading unusually slick saliva deep within. Something inside him shuddered, electricity racing down to his fingertips and toes, and he keened, throwing his head back. The Reaper caught his throat with one hand, long fingerbones petting up and down his throat.

“Please,” Goro whimpered, flexing his fingers uselessly. He despised begging, despised this feeling of helplessness, but now he was painfully hard, and his ass was wet and loose and he wanted _something_ to end this. Wanted to fuck away all his thoughts and hesitation about his new career path as Shido’s fucking lapdog, of all the murders he still has to commit. Goro already felt like a doomed man. Why not have flirt with death, in the most literal sense?

Slowly, the tongue retracted, and Goro nearly wept at the empty, bereft feeling, before another sensation pressed against him. This thing felt cold, slick, and _very_ hard. Bigger than the tongue. He strained in his bindings to look over his shoulder, and he wished he hadn’t. The Reaper’s single eye gleamed at him, thick red rivulets weeping into the bandage concealing its face. The hand not at his neck reached back to part the fluttering, torn-up fabric at its waist. Except it didn't seem to _have_ a waist. All Goro saw was the floor of Mementos between the tattered remnants of the Reaper’s rippling tailcoat. The Reaper pressed into him harder, and that _thing_ pressed insistently against his ass once more. But… Goro didn’t see anything.

The hand around his neck apparently decided he’d seen enough, and with two fingers on his jaw, turned his head down and away. “Gonna fuck me with a body you don’t even have?” Goro snapped. Why he decided to be curt with death, he couldn’t say. Was he hoping it would kill him for his insolence? Did he feel more in control of the situation if he could snark at it? Regardless, the creature never acted like it understood a word Goro said, and cold hard Reaper cock split him open with a forcefulness he’d never felt before.

A weak whimper escaped from his throat as the Reaper sunk fully into his body. It was… big, and yet strangely, so cold, counteracting the burn of his hole. Almost soothing, and so inherently wrong, somehow. His own body heat did nothing to affect it, even as the Reaper slowly grinded inside him, thrusting shallowly, experimentally. Goro’s breath stuttered in his chest, his ribs hiccuping with each expansive inhale.

“Are you waiting for me to get used to you?” He groaned, flexing his hips back towards… towards _nothing_ , even when straining to glance over his shoulder. Almost hysterical, he wondered what his ass looked like right then, stretched around an invisible dick. Fuck, it made him ache for more. “Come on, you’ve got me where you want me… just give it to me already!”

The Reaper’s hands stroked along his body, one at his neck, one at his hip. Then it slammed into him with such force Goro _moaned,_ hissing out a “ _fuck yes_ ” as the Reaper began to rail him in earnest. The strange coldness spread through his insides, not freezing, but cold enough to make him feel numb, like the Reaper was fucking away his very lifeforce. With nothing to do but relax into his chains, let himself get fucked, Goro imagined how ridiculous he must look. Suspended in the air, giant spectre of death thrusting an invisible dick into his hole over and over, and Goro fucking _loved it._

Open-mouthed, head hanging, moaning in delight at each thrust, Goro felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. The chill spread into his lower belly, buzzing like the beginnings of frostbite, not like the heat that usually he felt when he took it up the ass. It numbed his brain, stiffened his muscles until he flopped uselessly in his chains. With ruthless purpose, the Reaper thrust deeper, hitting his prostrate, sending a spike of ice up his spine, and he groaned, eyes rolling into his head. Goro felt… so cold, but his body still ached with burning need. His cock hung useless and hard between the chains, not close enough to get any friction, but the increasingly vigorous (and surprisingly silent) thrust of the Reaper still got him close.

He had the wherewithal to feel disappointed in himself, getting so aroused just getting fucked and getting hard for a monster. But with his back to the Reaper and his eyes closed, he could pretend like he was just having (unusual, wild, kinky) sex with any other random stranger, despite the deathly cold dick piercing him open over and over. Every scrape against his prostrate flickered an ember of heat inside him that the Reaper’s preternatural frigidity swallowed and devoured, sucking down every ounce of pleasure of life Goro had in him.

Groaning, he jerked his knees almost involuntarily so he could swing his suspended body into the Reaper’s thrusts. Friction upon friction. Despite the wheezy silence of the monster and the cold, Goro could feel the sparking pressure building between his legs. His thighs twitched, trying to close around himself, trying to rut against his own skin, feel something, but the chains held him exactly where the Reaper wanted him, and Goro’s voice pitched into a whine, hips jutting into nothing, the Reaper fucking into him with _nothing,_ and when he heard that damn little scratchy chuckle he couldn’t deny where he was, what _it_ was, and he groaned low in his chest as his cum splattered onto the dirty Mementos tracks.

The Reaper fucked him through his orgasm, and for some reason he expected to feel it follow him shortly after. Hoped, maybe, and then perhaps it would just go away.

But of course, it’s not that easy to escape death.

Instead of cum filling his ass, Goro felt… something he had never felt before in his life. The feel of the Reaper’s cock changed while still buried deep inside him. Swelled, hardened even further, and... _rippled._ Literally. With every thrust he felt something change, like an extra ridge or bump had grown on the thing. It reminded him of the ribbed toy he had safely hidden in his bedside table. When he used it, he could feel every extra swell of pressure against his walls, completely and wholly different from a real cock.. But the Reaper _actively changed_ its own dick's shape and texture _while still in Goro’s ass_ , and right after he came, too. Goro mewled and thrashed weakly, pathetically, aching cock already swelling with a renewed rush of blood.

“No more,” Goro wailed, his body growing colder even as his mind lit up in burning white heat. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-” he choked on air, gasping, sputtering, his body rejecting it, refusing oxygen.

He could have sworn the Reaper’s cock _arched up_ in his body, prodding him in new and unexplored ways, and it made him howl, thrashing his hips in any direction he could move. At some point, he’d wrapped his hands around the chains that bound them, no longer struggling to escape but desperately clinging to his last tether points to sanity. His body never came down from his orgasm high, like every unnatural shapeshifting maneuver the Reaper used was designed to keep him beyond the edge, tumbling eternally in a pleasure-soaked canyon of abyss.

Finally, finally, after a sob with actual tears, the Reaper slowed its assault, one hand stroking his back. It didn’t pull out all the way, but it slowed enough that Goro could unclench every muscle, every vessel, and sink into the chains like a comforting lifeline. Caught his breath. Inhale… exhale. Inhale… exhale.

The Reaper still didn’t pull out. It wasn’t… done?

_(Would the Reaper ever come? Why would it, if it’s just a monster. Does it... even have cum? Nope, no, stop it, not thinking about that.)_

Goro began to wonder if he should just, maybe, tell the Reaper to stop. Finally coming down from his orgasmic high, his brain started to reorganize data. _Targets. Four of them. Today._ Psychotic breakdowns were timely and messy, and he wanted to get these accomplished within short gaps of each other, to suit Shido’s narrative. But down here, it mattered less. Shido mattered less, revenge mattered less, everything inside him that was fire and hatred and revenge, slowly swallowed by the methodical coldness of the Reaper’s skeletal hands counting his ribs, of its cock moving in slow circles inside him. Cajoling him down from his high, but never letting his nerves settle, frayed and fried and ready to spark to life once more.

The Reaper shifted positions, remaining sheathed within him, but doing something new. Too exhausted to turn around, he wondered if it was going to try a different position. A familiar warm, wiggling wetness joined the aching fullness in his ass, and he squeaked, writhing at the sudden pressure. Was that… its _tongue?_

“What are you--” he tried to get out, straining over his shoulder to see, but the Reaper had folded over its massive height, leaning over Goro, somehow contorting its unnatural shape so it could lick around his filled hole. He couldn’t see everything, but imagining it… that invisible mass spreading him open, the paradoxical living pink tongue swirling around the stretched-out entrance, created such a lewd image Goro would have cried if he had any dignity left.

The squirming muscle pushed at his hole and he cracked out a sob, knees twitching and thrashing uselessly. Such a small thing, but to Goro’s tired and abused rim, the extra pressure punched a chesty whine from him, but still he found no purchase in the chains holding him. All he could do was hold on tight.

He didn’t know why the tongue was so much warmer than the rest of it. Why the tongue was corporeal when the rest of it wasn’t. But now, as the Reaper worked the serpentine tongue into his ass alongside its cock, he had to contend with the cold, invisible hardness and the warm wet writhing of the tongue as it worked deeper and deeper. It brushed along his prostrate, and the noises and pleading bubbling from his lips no longer sounded human, even to him. Even though he’d come recently, his cock grew hard, aching, desperate.

Tight. So tight, even the Reaper had trouble working the tongue in all the way, and every aching centimeter made Goro cry out in desperation. When it seemed like it could go no more, it once again waited, as though wanted Goro to adjust.

“I’m so hard,” Goro pleaded, even the bratty desire to snark at the monster stolen away, along with his warmth and his pride. “It hurts. Don’t stop now, don’t stop… fuck me and tongue me and make me come again…”

Goro didn’t think about how the Reaper clearly understood him, as it began to move with aching, infuriating slowness after Goro spoke. Didn’t wonder if it would have listened had he refused more vehemently. Or what else it could do, if he asked. His body surrendered to the movements, flexing into the Reaper with as much leverage as he could manage as it picked up speed. Occasionally, the tongue flicked with deliberate aim at his prostrate, targeted sensation no toy could ever possibly reproduce, and it burned away all Goro’s thoughts, all his doubts, all his rage, all his words except for “Yes! Please! More!”

The tongue remained warm, the ghostly dick stayed cold. He felt everywhere they overlapped, alternating stripes of temperature in his body, and even the disorganized feedback from his body translated into pleasure. He felt the Reaper’s tongue wrap around its own cock, creating a spiral of pleasure and texture and sensation that crossed Goro’s eyes and turned his voice into pitiful, guttural, animal noises.

It picked up speed, moving and flexing and slamming into him unlike anything he’d ever felt, anything human or real or possible. Despite the speed, despite feeling the Reaper bottoming out in his body, something like a pelvis or hips or _something_ slamming into his ass and his thighs, he heard no sound of flesh of flesh, just the occasional wet slurps of tongue slipping out and in, pitched wheezing breaths from the Reaper and desperate wails from Goro.

He was getting close again, his dick swinging painfully from the force of the thrusts. He wanted to come. He wanted it to come, wanted to know if it would come inside. If it would be cold, if it would be hot, if it would kill him with his own little death. He wanted to beg, wanted to cry, wanted to demand, wanted to scream, but the only he noise he recognized resonating from between his lips was a cracked and tear-stained, “ _please_ ”.

A ghostly wail echoed down the hall, and whether it came from the Reaper or some other terror of Mementos, Goro never wanted to know. A hand of bones gripped his cock, foreskin and exposed head scraping against exposed joints and bleached calcium, and it shouldn’t have felt good, should have hurt, but everything translated into a wash of relief and after a few seconds of feather-light contact and gentle rubbing, Goro came hot and wet into the Reaper’s hand as he felt it withdraw from his body, coating his bare back in thick, sticky, hot goo.

Goro swung uselessly in the chains suspending him, boneless and fucked out and weak. He inhaled, then exhaled, and waited, trying to guess which of these breaths would be his last. One, two, three. Seven. Twelve. But the final blow never came. Slowly, he felt himself being lowered until his knees and chest hit dirt. The chains whispered lovingly to him as they slid away from his body. When he leaned against the wall to pull himself, shaking, to his feet, he looked behind him to see nothing there. Not even an errant Shadow poking around.

When he faced forward, instead of the dead end he had been staring at sightlessly for the past who knows how long, he saw the platform for the lower floor, taunting him, like it had always been there. Goro didn’t question it. His injured leg still took his weight, although neither leg was up for much use at this point. He dragged himself down the escalator, never more furious about the nonfunctional steps than he was now. Somehow, the next floor was a waiting area, with a bench and chairs and no monsters. Was this floor even due for one yet? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He collapsed on the bench, willing his clothes to return to normal, adjusting the bandage around his thigh. It didn’t matter what just happened, Goro told himself. He still had targets to take out by the end of the day. Not even death could keep him from his goal, no matter how many deaths, big or small, he experienced along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, monsterfuckers!


End file.
